


Shelter from the Storm

by DaughterOfKings



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cassian Andor-centric, Cassian is always tired, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Rebellion, Sleep, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9708755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfKings/pseuds/DaughterOfKings
Summary: The people who let Cassian Andor rest.





	1. Bail Organa

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The title of this fic is, of course, borrowed from a Bob Dylan song
> 
> 2) This first chapter takes some details from another fic of mine, [Rebel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9490538), but you don't have to have read that one to follow this one (it's awesome if you have read it, though!)

Bail Organa took what felt like his first deep breath in hours as he strode purposefully away from the war room. The Council’s latest meeting had been both long and frustrating; General Draven’s spies were piecing together alarming reports about the Empire’s weapons capabilities, but nothing was enough to stir their cautious, fragile Alliance to greater action. It made him wonder if the groups that had recently splintered away had the right of it.

He shook off that thought- he knew better than that- and picked up his pace. There was still one more report he had to receive. 

He glanced at the datapad he was holding and smiled at the message Leia had left him confirming her arrival from Coruscant, and listing every stop on the roundabout journey she’d made to avoid detection. He hoped she hadn’t gotten up to too much mischief without his supervision; the last time one of his meetings had run long she’d convinced some of the commandos to let her in on their hand-to-hand training and had broken a young corporal’s nose.

She was nowhere in sight when Bail entered his quarters- and alarm rose sharply within him- but a moment later she stepped out into the sitting area with a tray of steaming mugs in her hands. Dressed in her senatorial robes, she looked so much like her mother, and he couldn’t fully mask the sorrow he felt as the memories of her hit him. 

Leia noticed it, of course, but misinterpreted its cause. “Father, I know you don’t like that I sit in the _Imperial_ Senate,” she said softly.

“Appearances must be maintained,” Bail answered. He gestured towards her tray as she set it down, eager to change the subject. “You made hot chocolate?”

“Captain Andor likes it,” she said. “And you’ve asked him to speak to you about his latest mission to Tatooine, haven’t you? I assume he’ll be arriving shortly.”

Bail didn’t bother asking how she’d known. For better or worse, Leia was alarmingly perceptive, and had a knack for obtaining information she wasn't supposed to have. He thought- not for the first time- about putting her under Cassian’s tutelage, but pushed the idea away as quickly as it came. She was still so young, and already more involved in the Rebellion than he wanted her to be.

The door chime sounded, and Bail pressed a button to allow Cassian to enter. He looked better than he had the first time he’d come to give a report regarding Tatooine, but that was no great feat considering he’d been recovering from a blaster wound. Tonight he was just tired; the sunburn on his face didn’t quite mask the dark circles under his eyes.

He acknowledged Leia with a slight bow- and barely covered his surprise when she responded by curtsying in the Festan style. “Prettily done,” he told her. “You could fool anyone until you started speaking.”

Leia arched an eyebrow and replied in what Bail assumed was the planet’s native language.

Cassian smirked, and- in a nearly perfect mimicry of the upper class Alderaanian accent- said, “We really must work on your pronunciation, Your Highness.”

Before Leia could say anything about the “we” in his remark, Bail cleared his throat, drawing Cassian’s attention.

He straightened up, donned a dutiful expression, and said, “Reporting as requested, sir.” 

“Indeed,” Bail said dryly. “Please, sit. As you’ll see, my daughter has made us refreshments.”

Cassian’s eyes brightened, and he took the mug Leia handed him with a murmur of thanks. Bail didn’t want to know how long he’d gone without anything but water and meager field rations; the answer would undoubtedly be longer than was strictly healthy.

“Did you see any pod races while you were on Tatooine, Captain Andor?” Leia asked as if there were not more pressing matters to discuss. 

“Just one,” Cassian answered around a yawn. To Bail, he said, “Sir, Imperial activity on the planet has been minimal since last winter. Standard recruiting ops, but beyond that...” He shrugged. “Whatever they’re after, they didn’t find it on Tatooine.”

“Whatever they’re after,” Bail echoed. It was galling that the Alliance still didn’t know. Something about desert worlds was attracting the  Empire’s attention, but not consistently enough for them to discern a motive. “At least,” he said, “that gives me some assurance that my old friend remains undetected. I thank you for that.”

“Was it one of the big races in the canyon?” Leia interrupted. 

Cassian looked bemused for a moment, then nodded. “The Hutts brought in racers from all over the system. They made a fortune between betting and prize money.”

“There is no betting at the races on Alderaan,” Leia said. She shot a grin at Bail, and added, “Someone forbid it years ago.”

“You have pod races on Alderaan?” Cassian asked dubiously.

“Water races,” Leia corrected. “On the rivers. Father, you remember taking me when I was younger, don’t you?”

Bail nodded, and she immediately launched into a story about a race she saw when she was ten. She kept on talking, occasionally asking Bail to add detail to her recollections. He couldn’t figure out what she was up to until he saw Cassian's head dip and jerk upright.  The captain was falling asleep- likely for the first time in days- but trying to fight it. 

He lost eventually, of course, and Leia trailed off mid-sentence with a quiet laugh. She slid the half-empty mug out of his hand, then grabbed the blanket off the back of her chair and threw it over him, looking rather pleased with herself when he didn't stir.

“You planned that,” Bail murmured, and he couldn’t say he was surprised. 

“Only when I saw that he needed it,” Leia answered. “He doesn’t sleep if he isn’t safe, does he?”

Bail shook his head, then jolted at the realization that Cassian, who trusted so little, considered him safe. 

Leia was watching his reaction knowingly. “You should feel honored, Father,” she said.

Bail nodded. “And so I do.”


	2. Wedge Antilles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I got out of work early today, and [SkylandMountain1013](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylandMountain1013/pseuds/SkylandMountain1013) promptly told me to write more fic. So here you go.
> 
> 2) I was not planning for Wedge to make an appearance in this story, but he showed up with booze and demanded that I write him in. That's how this happened.

Wedge Antilles had been with the Alliance long enough to know that military discipline was more lax than it was in Imperial service, but there was still a clear structure and hierarchy, and there were still rules... Which was why he had no idea what to do when he discovered that a captain from intelligence had broken into his storage locker and started drinking his supply of black market Corellian whiskey rather than reporting it as contraband.

“Uhm,” he said unintelligently, and tried to recover by throwing his best salute. “Sir.”

The captain laughed and took a long pull from a half-empty bottle. “You didn’t really think you and your pilot friends could hide this from the rest of us forever, did you?” he said in a thick, unfamiliar accent. 

Wedge couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t insult someone, so he settled on asking, “How’d you find out about it, sir?”

The captain’s expression turned withering. “I am a spy,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a small- and not especially bright- child. 

Wedge figured he deserved that. “Sorry, sir.”

The captain rolled his eyes and tried to pull the rank insignia off his jacket, but- apparently finding that too difficult- ended up taking the jacket off entirely. The shirt he had on beneath it was tacky with drying blood, clinging to his side. Wedge swore and dropped into a crouch beside him, trying to remember the lessons he'd had in combat first aid.

“Relax,” the captain said. “It’s not mine. Just this-” he tilted his head up to display a bruised jaw and split lip- “and it’s been sterilized.”

Wedge gave a sharp laugh. “More than a little, I’d say. You should-”

The door swung open, and a hulking KX droid filled the doorway. Its metal face couldn’t form expressions, not really, but Wedge swore that it was glowering. “Cassian,” it said. “You told me you were going to your quarters. This is a storage room.”

“I didn’t say I was going to stay there,” the captain grumbled. He gestured towards Wedge, who was even less sure of what was going on than he had been before, and added, “I’m having a drink with my friend now.”

“You don’t have friends,” the droid answered.

Wedge was just quick enough to see the flicker of- sadness? regret?- in the captain’s eyes before it vanished, and that made it easy to decide what to do next. “He has one now,” he told the droid. “C’mon, Captain, let’s finish this bottle.”

“That is not the optimal-” 

“Go away, Kay,” the captain said. “And shut the door.”

The droid stayed put longer than any other Alliance droid would have, but eventually did as it had been asked. It did slam the door shut with more force than necessary, though.

The captain shook his head ruefully. “That’s K-2SO. He means well.”

“Uh huh.” Wedge shifted to a sitting position, grabbed the whiskey with one hand, and stuck out the other. “Wedge Antilles.”

The captain shook his hand. “Cassian Andor.”

Wedge knew that name; he’d seen it in at least half of his mission briefings, attached to some of the most detailed intel that had been gathered on Imperial movements, and he guessed that explained the drinking.  He reached into his locker, grabbed the shirt he usually wore when he was working on his x-wing, and tossed it over, saying, “Take it. It’s cleaner than the one you have on.”

Cassian nodded and changed quickly, balling up his own shirt and setting it at his side. “I’ll make sure this gets back to you... and I’ll get you a new bottle of whiskey,” he said. 

Wedge figured that was as close to an apology or a thanks as he was going to get, so he took it. “Whiskey’s meant to be drunk. So drink it.”

Cassian looked at the bottle, then scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “I’ve probably had enough,” he admitted.

“What time are you expected back on duty?” Wedge asked.

Cassian grimaced. “0400.”

Wedge glanced at his chrono. Six hours. “You’ve definitely had enough,” he said. “But it’ll keep till next time.” 

Another man would have tried to say there wouldn't be a next time. Cassian just said, "All right," and hauled himself to his feet. He was still steady- that was probably something he'd learned in his line of work- but the alcohol was about to hit him hard all the same.

Wedge made sure he made it to his bunk before it happened, and left a full canteen and some rehydration tabs on the table for when he woke. He was unsurprised to find Cassian’s droid looming by the door when he stepped back into the corridor. “K-2SO,” he said. “Make sure Captain Andor is up by 0330. But don’t let anyone wake him any sooner.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” the droid answered. But then- “But I will take it under advisement.”


	3. Jyn Erso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) So if [Mercy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9326801) had a second chapter, it would basically look like this.
> 
> 2) It doesn't fit exactly, but a ton of listening to "Bring Him Home" from _Les Miserables_ goes into writing this fic. Just in case you wondered.

Jyn jolted awake in the engine compartment of the stolen shuttle. The heat emanating from the machinery around her wasn’t enough to keep her warm; her clothes were still damp, her wet hair was sticking to her neck, and she was shaking badly. She curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees, jaw clenched so her teeth didn’t chatter. She couldn’t think about anything except how cold she felt.

If she thought about anything else she knew she’d start crying, and she couldn’t, she couldn't-

The pilot, Bodhi, had already cried. His face had crumbled the moment she and Cassian had staggered aboard without her father. She wanted to know- wanted to demand to know- what gave him the right to mourn like that.

Who was he to cry when she couldn’t?

_You’re in shock_ , Cassian had said, _and looking for somewhere to put it._ But he hadn’t let her put it on him, and it wasn’t fair to put in on Bodhi, who’d only done what her father had asked of him, and had suffered so much because of it.

_Papa. Oh, Papa..._

She didn’t want think about him, but she couldn’t stop. And then she was sobbing.

She was on her feet and halfway to the ladder to the cockpit before she realized it. It was only Chirrut’s voice that stopped her. 

“Think about what you’re about to do, little sister. The Force is moving wildly around you now.”

“I’m not about to do anything,” Jyn answered, hurriedly dragging her sleeve over her tearstained face to clean it even though he wouldn’t know the difference.

Chirrut cocked his head as if listening to something intently. “Baze,” he said, “What did you tell me before? About Captain Andor?”

Baze cracked one eye open and grunted. “I told you that he had the face of a friend. Still does.”

“To you, maybe," Jyn retorted. “He-” and she stopped because she’d been about to say Cassian had killed her father, but he hadn’t. His Alliance had, and he’d made no apologies for them, but she’d known he was loyal. 

_I had orders! Orders that I disobeyed..._

“He had orders,” she said under her breath. And she was going to find out who had given them.

She stormed up the ladder, fresh accusations on her lips, but before she could get them out a metal arm hit her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her and stopping her cold.

“Quiet.” K-2 ordered as she sucked in a painful breath. “I told Cassian that there was a 73% chance you would try to attack him before we reached Yavin, but he ignored me. He does that with increased frequency if what I say pertains to you. I think it is foolish of him.”

Jyn expected Cassian to say something in reply, but when her eyes fell on the copilot’s seat she saw that he was slumped against the restraints, head lolling forward. She could tell from his position that he hadn’t fallen asleep deliberately; exhaustion had dragged him under, and was keeping him from waking in spite of her intrusion. 

“Oh,” she said dumbly. She tried to free herself from the grip K-2 had on her shirt, but the droid wouldn’t let her go. “I wasn’t coming to attack him! I just wanted to talk.”

“You do not have a history of being truthful.”

“Neither does he,” Jyn snarled, smacking at the droid's metal arm. “Let go!”

Cassian startled at the sound and mumbled, “Kay?”

“Nothing is wrong, Cassian,” K-2 said calmly, glowing eyes fixed on Jyn all the while.

She stared back and didn’t say anything.

Cassian’s chin hit his chest again. 

“You are going to kill him,” K-2 said, but it did release her from its grasp. 

Jyn rubbed one hand across her abdomen, wincing as she touched the area where she’d been struck. “I told you I just wanted to talk to him,” she said. She didn’t add that she’d already thought about taking revenge and realized it wouldn’t matter; the droid probably wouldn’t consider that a mark in her favor.

“You are still going to kill him,” it said. “He believes your father’s message.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jyn answered dully, forcing down any feelings the words might have evoked. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up twice.

“He does,” K-2 insisted. “And because he believes it, he will conclude that he must go to Scarif.”

Jyn understood, then. “You don’t think we’ll survive?”

“The odds are-”

“I don’t want to know the odds."

K-2 huffed as well as its electronics allowed. “I thought you required an explanation.”

“I got it.” Jyn did her best not to think about how this could have been avoided if only- if only- She shook her head. “If it makes you feel better, I still have to convince the Alliance to authorize a mission to Scarif.”

K-2 was silent for a moment, then said, “I do not believe that is relevant to my previous statements.” 

_I had orders! Orders I disobeyed..._

Jyn didn't dare to consider the implications of that yet, but a treacherous sliver of hope still started uncurling within her. "I'll let him rest, then," she said softly, moving back towards the ladder. "That'll have to help even the odds a little." 

She pretended not to hear K-2 answer, "Not enough."


	4. Shara Bey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I probably did a bit of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff to put Kes and Shara into this fic, but this was always the ending I had in mind, so I hope you'll go with it.

It hadn’t been a difficult choice for Shara to join the Rebellion alongside her husband. It had been wrenching, of course, to leave their home, but she knew how badly her skills as a pilot were needed. She never could have lived with herself if she hadn’t offered them up. 

She and Kes had exchanged promises before taking their oaths: neither would interfere with the other’s command, neither would try to stop the other from taking on a mission, neither would stop fighting if the other was killed. And yet, when word reached her that Captain Andor was quietly gathering volunteers to go to Scarif- with or without the Council’s blessing- Shara took off running for the hanger. 

She skidded to a halt when she saw Kes in the corridor. He was sitting on the floor with his head bowed, cradling one hand in the other. She was quick to spot the streaks of blood on the wall behind him.

“Did you break any fingers?” she asked.

Kes bolted upright. “Shara.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What’re you-” he stopped abruptly, expression darkening. “You heard. You’re coming to ask me to stay.”

Shara didn’t deny it. “I know what’s at stake,” she said carefully, trying to ward off an argument.

But Kes’ expression didn’t change. “Then you know this has to be done. You _know_ it, Shara!”

“But you don’t have to do it!” she snapped, then clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it; even though he knew she’d been on her way to break all their promises, she hadn’t meant to say it. 

Kes didn’t forgive her. He pushed himself off the wall, away from her, saying, “The captain didn’t choose me. Go back to work.”

Shara watched him storm off, feeling weak with guilt and relief. Once he was out of sight she continued on towards the hanger, slowly this time. It wasn’t hard to spot the commandos who had been chosen for the mission; they were the ones checking their gear, eating bland meal bars, or trying to get some rest while their fellows stood around conspicuously doing nothing. As her gaze traveled over them, Shara realized they were all unattached. 

Captain Andor hadn’t chosen a single man or woman for the mission who had a family to leave behind.

And, in that moment, Shara understood everything.

She scanned the hanger until she caught a glimpse of him near the stolen shuttle. He was lying on the floor with his head pillowed on his arms, eyes open only to slits. He was drifting the way all soldiers did when they had to shore up their energy but couldn’t afford to really sleep; she’d seen Kes do it dozens of times.

Cassian’s droid moved to stand directly in front of her before she could get too close. It glanced at the insignia on her jacket, then said, “Lieutenant. Do you need me to wake Captain Andor for you?” 

Shara shook her head. She wasn’t going to deprive a man of his rest just to thank him for not making her a widow.

“That is good,” the droid said. “I wouldn’t have done it.”

Shara smiled. “Of course. Will you give him a message for me when he does wake?”

The droid approximated a human nod. “Yes, Lieutenant, since you have not annoyed me.”

“Tell him that my family will celebrate him when his mission is over.”

“The odds of failure are 97 point-”

“My family will celebrate him,” Shara interrupted firmly. “And pass on his story as long as our line lasts.” She thought of the children she and Kes hoped to have. She would have to tell them so much someday.

The droid bowed its head and, sounding oddly soft, said, “That is agreeable.” 

Shara took one last look at Cassian, wanting to remember him exactly in this moment so that she could keep her word. Then she touched her fingers to her forehead in a brief salute, whispered, “Thank you, Captain,” and left to find her husband.


End file.
